Dangling legs over the bow of the Vesper II, head tucked under the Genoa sail to watch the sun throw shards of broken glass across the churning sea.
A distant boat lifting wing-on-wing; full sails blooming on either side of the vessel as it runs before the wind across a path of light.
The skin-prickling chill of 61-degree spray as we motor through the rolling wake of a larger boat in our twelve foot dinghy on a blistering Sunday.
Two full glasses of dry red wine, cushioned by cloth place mats on a glass patio table, in front of a granite rock garden bloated with yawning day lilies.
A breath of wind stroking with restful fingers as it carries us through an outdoor supper without mosquitoes.
Holiday-morning-road quiet in front of our house; coffee in open-window air and the occasional pong of a nautical wind chime at the back of the yard as it sings a tale of the sea.
Left-over blueberry bread pudding floating in a swirl of almond cream sauce for breakfast.